Still Is
by Pineapple's Fidelity
Summary: /10 Snuggles Challenge/ G1: Prowl and Bumblebee begin to discover something that at one time could've been more.
1. Datapad Blues

**Ten Snuggles Challenge**

**Chapter: **1/10

**Title: **Datapad Blues

**Characters:** Prowl, Bumblebee

**Prompt: **#06 – Holding Hands

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything.

Prowl wanted to glare. Not just any kind of the glare either. He wanted to glare the kind of glare that Ratchet does when he wants the twins to cooperate, the one that Jazz gave 'pit-spawned' datapads, the kind that Optimus Prime would give when you've finally made his virtually endless patience go up in smoke. Yes, _that_ kind of glare. The one that made the receiver feel like they'd just been burned to ashes.

Only, he didn't want to glare at anyone else, oh no, he wanted to glare at his shoulder. His whole arm really. But, because that was completely illogical he didn't. He just wanted to, which really wasn't all that logical either.

The Datsun's mood wasn't at all helped by the fact that the offending arm was indeed his writing arm. You'd think being such an advanced super robot he'd be ambidextrous. Unfortunately that was not the case. He's sure he felt his optic twitch as he stared at the datapads which Ratchet had forbidden him from working on. Something about letting the new wiring settle.

Prowl stared at them a while longer before deciding something.

The next time he saw Skywarp on the battlefield or not he was going to give the teleporter a nice burn-you-to-ashes glare. Make the flier run with his 'tail between his legs', as the humans would say.

Or maybe, Prowl thought, he would just rip Skywarp's arm and beat the seeker with it. Repeatedly.

A spark of humor arose in him at the thought causing Prowl's lips to quirk upwards. Of course, he'd have to tell Prime about it beforehand so the commander would worry about his SIC losing it. Ratchet too. The medic would sooner knock the tactician on his aft with sedatives than wait for explanations.

The thought of Ratchet brought Prowl back to his current predicament. He glanced morosely at the pile of reports before continuing to peer over his medic-appointed helper's yellow shoulder.

He casually scanned what his helper was writing up before announcing, "There are six errors on this page."

Bumblebee already tense from Prowl's continuous double-checking and hovering felt he couldn't get any more so without going rock solid. Upturning his head to look Prowl in the faceplates Bumblebee scowled.

"There is not."

Prowl unperturbed by the minibot's rare expression of irritation replied, "Yes there is."

The scowl dug deeper into Bumblebee's faceplates.

"No, there is _not_," the minibot insisted.

With a cycle of air vents Prowl reached over with his good arm, "Here, give it to me. I'll sort it out."

Optics widening Bumblebee leaned away as well as stretching his arm out.

"Oooooh, no! Ratchet said you're not to be working on any datapads!"

Prowl leaned back into his chair arms crossed, grumbling. Although, he looked more irritated than petulant Bumblebee could practically feel the pout. Wary Bumblebee remained poised in his outstretched position. Slowly he returned to his seated position once he determined that Prowl wouldn't make a snatch for the datapad.

Still Bumblebee kept a wary optic on the steaming tactician for a few astrokliks before returning to filling it out. It wasn't long before Prowl was looming over him watching everything. It set Bumblebee on edge.

The minibot took a few more breems of it before an idea clicked in his processor. Smiling he looked over at Prowl.

"Hey, Prowl?"

"Yes?"

"You know I can write with my left hand."

Prowl didn't seem to get it. He shook his head.

"No, I didn't. Though, I suppose it was very likely. Most Cybertronians are adept with both hands."

Bumblebee turned fully towards the Datsun now gesturing to his left side.

"But you can't."

"I am aware." Were his doorwings trembling? "What is the point of this, Bumblebee?"

Grinning from horn to horn Bumblebee moved excitedly over to him…

"Here, let me show you!"

…and promptly sat in his lamp.

Prowl nearly jumped out of his armor. Probably would have if it were possible. As it was he looked like he wanted to crawl out of it.

"_Bumblebee!_"

"Hold on!"

With Prowl rock solid beneath him Bumblebee crossed his legs balancing the datapad on them. Then, with great difficulty, grabbed Prowl's left hand and enclosed it around his own. Using his right hand he held the datapad on one knee, using his left Bumblebee continued to write with Prowl following along.

He paused a moment later to check on the tactician. He was staring with surprise

"What? You seemed so determined to fill it out before. Now you can, sort of, eligibly and without getting the cybercats of Pit sent after you, and me, consequently."

Prowl stayed silent, staring.

"About that, that's a little obsessive. Not that I mind. If I can deal with Red Alert I can deal with a little 'must fill out datapads'."

Bumblebee paused thinking.

"Why do you _need_ to anyway?"

More silence.

"Eh, you don't have to answer that," Bumblebee added nervously starting to move his hand again

"It's part of my job," the Datsun admitted.

Bumblebee looked at him. Prowl looked at their joined hands as if transfixed.

"Yeah, but it's a part of almost everyone else's as well," the yellow Autobot pointed out, "kind of comes with the territory."

"No, I mean," Prowl struggled with the words, "not that…it's my job to, well, take care of everyone. I have to make sure everything is right."

Bumblebee smiled, "Well, maybe you should let somebody take care of you sometimes. Everybody needs a break now and then."

Prowl returned it, "Maybe." He glanced to their hands once more. "Thank you."


	2. Jazz is Murphy Law

**Ten Snuggles Challenge**

**Chapter: **2/10

**Title: **Jazz is Murphy Law

**Characters:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Prowl, Ratchet

**Prompt: **#05 – Laughing

* * *

"Jazz you're _insane_."

Bumblebee had been trudging back to his quarters after a particularly long orn of patrols and security detail with Red Alert. All he really wanted was to get to his shared quarters, fall down on the unoccupied berth, and go into recharge. He made it to the quarters, managed to land on the right berth and had almost successfully gone into recharge until _somebody_ had knocked on the door.

Which led up to his current situation where he was trying, read as: hopelessly failing, to turn down being involved in Jazz's…whatever he had planned. Bumblebee wasn't really paying attention.

The saboteur pouted, "Aw, c'mon 'Bee! I bet ya don't even know what Ah'm talkin' about!"

The minibot was unamused. Even if his decidedly solid resolve did waver a bit he was not going to give in. So what if it was rude and out of character, a bad day with Red Alert could do that anybot!

"No, I don't. And, frankly, after what you got me into last time I'm not sure I want too."

Jazz looked aghast as he placed a hand over his spark declaring cheerfully, "Ya wound me! Makin' me out ta be like the twins! For shame, Ah would never leave ya high n' dry."

A small smile traitorously broke onto Bumblebee's face even as the minibot crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. Jazz and his theatrics.

The yellow mech decided to quit while he was ahead. Jazz could keep this up all night if he really wanted while Bumblebee felt he couldn't last another klik. Bumblebee smirked saying with all the sarcasm of well-known banter, "No, you'd make it worse. Someway, somehow with that dangerous talent of yours you would enact Murphy's Law and it would trample all over my aft."

Jazz leaned toward Bumblebee hand at his audio receptor, "Is that a yes Ah hear?"

Bumblebee cycled his vents.

"Is this going to incite a prank war?"

"Nope."

"Is particularly dangerous to anyone's health?"

"Who do ya take me fer? Ironhide?"

"Does it have to be done tonight?

"Not, if yer tired."

Bumblebee glared. That wasn't funny. Jazz just grinned back.

Another vent cycle.

"Ugh, fine, yes."

Jazz's smiled could have outshone the sun. He reached over and yanked the yellow mech from the doorway. He dashed off down the corridor Bumblebee almost literally dragging behind him.

"A'ight then! Let's get it done!"

Which is how the Special Ops commander and his subordinate ended up in the rec room setting up a ridiculously elaborate prank designed with someone special in mind. It wasn't for any of the various regulars who received pranks occasionally, biweekly if the lack of Decepticon activity was bad enough and the twins bored, not even the twins themselves. No, their target was no other than the SIC of the Autobots Prowl.

Bumblebee wobbled precariously atop Jazz's shoulders as Jazz tottered atop a stack of chairs and a couple empty energon cubes. All this weighed down upon a shaking groaning table.

A strangled noise squeezed itself out of the yellow minibot's vocals when he glanced down. Sure, it wasn't really that large of a fall. Yes, he wouldn't get all that damaged if he _did_ fall and Jazz miraculously failed to catch him but _still._ Heights made him edgy.

The black and white mech seemed to read his. He patted the minibot.

"Don't ya worry lil' buddy," he reassured.

Bumblebee huffed, "I'm not worried."

Jazz chuckled, "Whatever."

The minibot grumbled something possibly obscene before managing to lodge a bucket full of questionable substances on the ceiling crossbeam. Cycling a deep drag of air Bumblebee gripped the beam tightly before scrambling onto it. Before the energon he'd had that morning decided to come up he offlined his optics and laid still. Chuckling came up to him giving the spy half the mind to dump the bucket's contents on Jazz instead of waiting for Prowl.

Jazz clambered down from his perch. He glanced up at Bumblebee to check on him before striding across to some thin rope dangling from the ceiling. He had to avoid others that were already tied from their respective parts of the room to their allotted bucket. Once it was in hand Jazz maneuvered back to Bumblebee making sure the rope's path went where it should.

He smirked up at the rock solid minibot, "'Bee, ya need ta online yer optics now."

A small headshake.

"C'mon, ya weren't that scared before."

Bumblebee hissed in reply, "This one's higher."

"And ta last one."

The yellow Autobot onlined his optics determinedly staring up, "Just hurry." He waved his arm for emphasis.

Laughing Jazz tossed his end of the rope up. Bumblebee snatched it from the air. Once it was attached to the pail the spy once again offlined his optics before flinging himself off the beam. Jazz caught him deftly.

"I don't know why you couldn't have just climbed back up each time."

"Well, fer one," Jazz nudged the table holding up the chairs and cubes with his ped, "I don't think that would've lasted another roun', an' this is faster."

The saboteur let Bumblebee down. Placing his hands on his hips he declared, "Now, we ta get rid of this eyesore."

Bumblebee canted his head to the side looking thoughtful. Then with a shrug said, "I don't know, could be some form of human abstract art."

The pair stood silently studying their make-shift ladder.

"Meh."

"Eh."

With that the two put the stacked items back in their appropriate places. At the end of it Jazz checked his chronometer.

"A'right, time ta hit it 'Bee."

The minibot nodded at Jazz moving over to his hiding spot. Bumblebee paused to glance back at the saboteur.

"You sure this is going to work?" Bumblebee asked.

Jazz nodded, "It should. Even Prowl ain't that—"

_Swoosh._

"I'm not…what?"

Prowl paused. Jazz froze. Bumblebee froze. Everything stood still and silent.

Jazz moved first. Shouting he dashed to the opposite door, "Every mech fer himself!"

Bumblebee followed after. However, unlike his commander Bumblebee was near Prowl which put him on the wrong side of the prank. In his hurry to get the pit out of there he wasn't watching for all the trip ropes. His luck held for the first two but on the third he caught it in the neck sending him crashing to ground with a bucket of stuff swinging in his wake…towards Prowl.

Prowl saw it coming and hit the deck. The can passed through the place the tactician had just been. Then it reeled back towards Bumblebee knocking the newly standing minibot back towards the ground. It also knocked the rest of the trip ropes sending liquids, buckets, ropes, and mechs everywhere.

Now a bristling Datsun of fury pushed himself from the ground. Starting towards the fallen Bumblebee he demanded, "I demand an explana-!"

Two pails clanged together sandwiching Prowl's head between them as well as spilling a gracious amount of their liquid. The tactician stumbled forward in a daze. His ped slipped in the strangely orange slop flinging him towards a tangle of revolving, swerving pails. The attaching ropes tangling him up like a puppet.

Bumblebee after being knocked down, forward, back, and to both sides was sent careening towards an almost escaped Jazz. They collided with a crash skidding into the wall nearby the rec room exit. Jazz groaned. Bumblebee echoed the sentiment.

"Jazz?" croaked Bumblebee.

"Yeah?"

The yellow mech locked optics with Jazz.

"Do I want to know what you put in those buckets?"

Jazz shook his head.

"No, 'Bee, ya really don't wanna know."

Bumblebee shook his own head before letting it fall back.

"I figured that."

"How very reassuring," sighed Prowl from the other side of the room.

The two mechs in a pile near the door looked over at the tactician. The tactician looked back at them.

"We should get over to Ratchet. This…stuff can't be very good. Especially mixed like this."

"Ah wouldn't want ta. He jus' dealt wit' ta whole Aerialbot gestalt 'cause they interrupted Wheeljack."

Prowl almost looked horrified.

"That's not reassuring."

* * *

Ratchet later would swear up and down to Wheeljack that when Prowl, Jazz, and Bumblebee came into his medbay that something in his had blown.

The CMO gaped.

Prowl stood in his usual stoic manner. Jazz was grinning widely completely unapologetic. Bumblebee for the most part had the sense to look abashed. Or was just plain embarrassed. Either was a possibility.

Ratchet rebooted his optics. The sight did not change. The three were covered in dents, scratches, strangely colored liquids that were made of substances that Ratchet…would never care to think about again. Ever. He got enough of CPU screwing from the twins thank you.

Rubbing his temples tiredly Ratchet asked, "Do I care to know what happened?"

"Probably not," snickered Jazz.

"No," mumbled Bumblebee.

Prowl laughed surprising them all. It was a small light laugh barely lasting as second.

"I don't think _I _even want to know what happened."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I realize I have blatantly said this and that I might need to. This "10 snuggles" are going to be centered around Bumblebee and Prowl because that's what I claimed. They may or may not be a couple at the end but it will be light slash. That's an **_IF_**. Not entirely sure.


End file.
